You Will Be Found

Back in December of 2016, my mom and I went to go see Dear Evan Hansen.  It was at that point just some show I had heard had done well off-Broadway but that I thought might be good.  I knew nothing about what I was in for.

I cried.  I cried so much.  I cried way more than I did when I went to go see Me and Earl and the Dying Girl and I cried during that movie to such a degree that my friend's boyfriend leaned over to her and asked if I was okay.  And I was okay in that movie theater, just caught up in a sad story (come on, the words dying girl are in its title!).  But I was not okay during Dear Evan Hansen.

Or after.  My poor mother and I walked, shell shocked, through a slowly falling snow to talk to a lot of Italian food about our feelings.  Of which there were many.  Because the story is tragic, but uplifting and inspirational and unifying and filled with longing.  And yet at the same time I felt so hollow, even with all of these emotions bombarding my nervous system.  I was wrung out.  Hyperventilating into the two squares of toilet paper you had taken from the women's room at intermission which was a drastically low estimate as to the amount of toilet paper squares you would need will do that to a person.

Last night, I saw a performance from the musical.  It was a different city.  It was sweating in a park instead of wearing a hat with ear flaps and still shivering.  And I was by myself.

I did however talk to a number of other concert goers.  About shows and our experiences in Chicago and how over and over again, we couldn't believe just how many people were here in Millennium Park.  Because there were SO MANY people.  And all types of people.  There was an old man wearing a sports jacket and a sailors hat dancing in the aisles.  Two boys I let come stand in front of me kept bugging each other in Italian.  There was a group of clearly high school theater kids singing harmonies while we waited and people respectfully made room for individuals in wheelchairs.  The ASL interpreters on stage were performing just as passionately as the actors.  And I was part of it.

And this was exactly the sort of thing I wanted to be able to do by living in a city.  The day before, a few blocks from my house, I'd gotten to see Betty Who perform in a parking lot during a street fair.  I'm planning to go to an Office themed pop-up next week.  These are the sort of things I would have read about online as happening in New York but that would have seemed too far, like too much effort.  It'll take longer to get there and back than the event itself will take, I'd think, and just not participate.  Now it gets to be a short walk.  Maybe a short train ride.  And I'm there.  I get to do it.

So last night, during this performance, I closed my eyes for a moment and just listened.  And I felt that bubble of emotion inside of myself that I felt the first time I heard it.  I felt found.  I am so thankful.

And the lesson here is do yourself a favor and participate if you think you may like something.  It's maybe going to end up worth it.